


Glitter Pens and Scented Twigs

by KathSilver



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clueless Boys, Craft Store, I am HORRIBLE at tagging things, M/M, Newt makes charts, feelings come out of nowhere, gally is an enabler, mature only for suggested themes, questionable use of craft supplies, the maze runner secret santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathSilver/pseuds/KathSilver
Summary: Prompt: modern!AU Newt is an employee at a craft store and frequently sees Thomas coming in. Thomas likes to make crafts to try and feel like he has his life together but he starts coming in more and Newt can't figure out why.or:The one with accidental stalking and entirely too much judgmental eyebrow.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 188
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2019





	Glitter Pens and Scented Twigs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isthisenoughorcanwegohigher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher/gifts).



It started with glitter pens.

Not that there was anything wrong with them, of course. Working at a craft store meant that Newt saw an awful lot of glitter pens being purchased throughout the year, though normally the buyer was a 12-year-old girl and not a twenty-something man who gave off the distinct impression that he’d lost control of his life.

No, it wasn’t the glitter pens that were the problem. Nothing really seemed off about the purchase: 120 pack of glitter pens, construction paper, two bunches of scented twigs, and an apron meant for a stuffed animal. It’s just that the glitter pens made Newt take _notice_ , and everything really went straight downhill from there.

Well, not _straight_.

Never mind.

Newt rang up the man’s purchase and tried to catch a glance at his face—tired eyes looking everywhere but at Newt, long fingers that shook from either caffeine deprivation or sleep withdrawal, clothes that screamed he did not give even the most solitary of fucks about his appearance, and not one single sign pointing to what the bloke would want to do with glitter pens.

Maybe they were a gift, though as Thanksgiving was still a few days away it seemed a touch early for that sort of thing. Ultimately Newt was left with the choice of either asking him about it, something he swore he would never do again after the woman who bought an abnormal amount of yarn had actually _answered him_ , or let him go on about his life. The only bit of conversation they shared was, “Do you have a rewards card?”

“No.”

“Have good one, mate.”

Newt spent about five minutes thinking about the tired man with the glitter pens and how his voice sounded like he’d recently woken up. It might have gone on longer, if he was honest, but then an old woman who smelled slightly of cheese came through his line and the man was completely forgotten.

Two days later, Newt saw him again.

He was reorganizing the baskets when the man, who looked an equal amount of tired as last time and also a bit shifty, marched right by them wearing an almost identical outfit as he had the first time. Same khakis, same worn adidas, same hoodie, but this time with a blue shirt instead of green.

Most importantly, however, was that his arms were full to bursting with bundles of hemp twine.

“What the…” he whispered, but Minho shushed him with a look of panic.

“No questions! We do not ask questions! Remember yarn lady? There will be no repeating of yarn lady, Jesus Christ.”

Though his curiosity rose up he nodded along with Minho and turned back to his stack of baskets.

“Why so curious, anyway?” Minho asked when the danger had passed and the glitter pen man had made his way up to the checkout. “It’s not like we haven’t seen weirder things.”

Newt shrugged and fought the urge to ask Minho if he thought the man had looked tired. “Dunno, seemed like an awful large amount of twine. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what got you in trouble last time.”

“No trouble here, Min. Just a tower of baskets about to collapse and crush us both before our finals ever get the chance.”

Right.

No trouble.

As if to call him out on his nonsense, a glittery pink basket slipped from his stack and fell square on his nose.

The very next day Newt watched the entire thing happen from start to finish. The man walked in through the burst of wintery air with hair like a tempest and a shine to his eyes. They were clearer that day, like for the first time he was fully awake and aware of the world.

The difference was startling, and Newt didn’t quite know what to do with it.

The man stopped once inside and did a sweep of the store—he even gave Newt a nod when he noticed him staring from his register. There wasn’t a soul left in the store that wasn’t an employee—Gally was in the back clearing out his till. They closed in about fifteen minutes, but just as Newt made to call this information out, the man strode forward into the depths of the store like a man on a mission.

Newt decided to let this one play out and see what happened.

No less than ten minutes later did he show up with: four pine branches, hot glue, seven different types of ribbon, a bag of pinecones, and two rubber stamps that said, “sunny days” and “happy graduation”, respectively.

He wouldn’t ask. He’d promised both Minho and himself that under no circumstances would he ask, but he couldn’t stay silent either. Newt stared at the contents of the cart while cheery Christmas music taunted him in the background, Michael Bublé loudly proclaiming something about bells.

Newt bit the corner of his lip and flicked his gaze up at the man, who he’d guess was around his own age now that he wasn’t burdened by a lack of sleep, only to find himself being stared at in turn.

“Is this going to be a thing, then?” Newt asked.

The man seemed to deflate a bit with his gusty sigh. “Yeah, probably. I think.”

The entirely non-committal answer surprised Newt not at all. He simply nodded and gestured to the absurd quantity of things in the cart. “Wanna go ahead and sign up for that rewards card now?”

Honestly. If he was determined to systematically buy every item in the store for some insane project that Newt would _not_ be asking about, he might as well get some of his money back.

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

Newt ended up staying an extra ten minutes past the end of his shift to help him fill out the forms, give over the coupons, and ring up the final total. When the man finally left the store he seemed a touch defeated. Newt wondered if by signing up for a rewards card he somehow felt like he’d signed away his dignity.

Either way, Newt finally had the answer to at least one of his questions.

His name was Thomas.

Black Friday was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most inane and ridiculous thing that Americans had come up with. The entire country should be committed for turning this into a thing, and Newt was honestly a bit disgusted with himself for taking part in it. Spending money for his senior year simply wasn’t worth this, nothing was.

He’d been on his feet for 12 straight hours while what seemed like every person in the city came through and bought every item off of the shelves. There’d been pushing, and shoving, and Newt had needed to get between two old ladies who’d gotten into a shouting match over a bloody _scrapbook_ that was 75% off. They’d been so busy yelling at each other they hadn’t realized there was a second one not four feet away, and when Newt not-so-gently pointed this out they’d tried to _pinch his cheeks_.

About an hour ago he’d grabbed a lopsided stool to drag behind his till, angry at his trainers for failing to keep his feet from aching. Alby, their shift lead, tried to yell at him for it but it fell upon deaf ears. Alby was an American, this whole thing was partly his fault anyway.

Bloody capitalist nightmare.

“Long day?”

Newt groaned. He’d only put his head down for a moment, he’d swear it, but at this point he would know that voice anywhere. Without raising his head—he couldn’t bear to see what new items Thomas had felt the need to buy—Newt responded in kind.

“Americans are everything that is wrong with this world.”

The loud, startled laugh that followed his comment injected enough life into Newt for him to raise his head in awe. Later he’d swear that his mouth was open from exhaustion, but there was no one around for him to defend himself to anyway.

Thomas laughed with his whole body and the way his shoulders caved inward showed that underneath his baggy clothes, Thomas might actually be decently in shape. His arms were solid, and the way his long fingers covered his mouth drove Newt to temporary distraction.

When had he stood up?

Newt was staring down at his stool in confusion by the time Thomas calmed down, but the laughter hadn’t left his eyes when Newt looked up again, and he was officially in trouble.

“No need to stand on my account,” Thomas said. The warmth, the _fondness_ in his tone had Newt firmly clamping his mouth shut. They’d barely spoken, there was no need for fondness, Newt must have imagined it through his weariness. “What with me being everything wrong with the world.”

“I—sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Normally I wouldn’t come in on Black Friday, but someone harassed me into getting this rewards card and all these coupons…”

Newt looked down at the coupons that he had, indeed, given to Thomas just two days ago. Past Newt had betrayed himself and not even known it at the time, what a bastard.

“Bugger. Well, then. Let’s have it.” Newt looked down for Thomas’s cart, only to find that it was missing entirely. In confusion he looked for a carry basket instead, only to find one single, solitary item cradled into Thomas’s hands instead.

“A hot glue gun?” Newt asked.

“Yep.”

“You bought glue for this not two days ago, and you didn’t think to buy the gun?”

“Uh, yeah. Apparently. I did that.”

Newt squinted at Thomas, then the gun, then the coupons he’d proudly shown a few moments ago, and ran his tongue across his teeth in a tic he’d never quite outgrown. At some point his hands had migrated to his hips, but Newt ignored this in favor of judging the customer.

“Thomas. The gun isn’t even on _sale_.”

“Huh. Imagine that.”

Thomas’s face hadn’t changed throughout the entire exchange—a cheerful smile with something to hide, and the sinking feeling that at the moment it was actually Newt who was being judged.

Newt’s eye twitched, but he rang up the purchase and sent Thomas on his way, physically resisting the urge to pull out his own hair in frustration.

That night, Newt purchased some supplies and began making the chart.

From that day forward Thomas came in every single time Newt was on shift, and by the sound of it from Gally and Minho he’d come in the other days as well. Of course, they didn’t know his name nor Newt’s odd little obsession, they just knew he came in a lot and bought odd things. Gally got an odd look of constipation and annoyance whenever he spoke about him, which made it a bit easier for Newt to distinguish one odd customer from _his_ odd customer. Whenever he could, Newt would write down the items that Thomas had purchased and add them to the chart—all in a wild attempt to figure out what on earth the bloke could possibly be crafting.

They’d never had a chance to actually speak again, not like they had on Black Friday, but there seemed to be some sort of game going on where they judged each other with their eyes and exchanged pleasantries. Newt judged his purchases while Not Asking Questions, and Thomas appeared to judge Newt for judging him.

**Things Thomas Has Purchased:**

  * 120 pack of glitter pens
  * construction paper
  * two bunches of scented twigs
  * apron
  * bundles of hemp twine
  * four pine branches
  * hot glue
  * seven different types of ribbon
  * a bag of pinecones
  * two rubber stamps, “sunny days” and “happy graduation”
  * three wreaths
  * wood burning kit
  * assorted paints
  * rubber cement (was the hot glue not enough, you utter madman?)
  * rock polishing kit
  * a ceramic planter
  * fake flowers
  * bag of wool snowmen
  * silver bowl
  * THREE LARGE SACKS OF LEATHER STRAPS
  * bedazzler



Newt looked down at the day’s purchase and made a mental note to add it to the chart: a pack of those odd little scissors that cut in patterns instead of a straight line. About to ask if Thomas wanted a bag, he looked up and stopped at the downtrodden way Thomas appeared to stand. Slumped shoulders, shadowed eyes, stubble that was more overgrown than his usual scruff. A quick glance at the clothes proved that Thomas was back to the way he dressed when he’d first begun to come to the store—which alerted Newt to the fact that over time, Thomas had begun to cultivate the appearance of an actual functioning adult, one that he missed now it was gone.

Newt put down the scissors and turned off his lane sign. Zart had been a twat to him earlier, he could handle if any customers came about.

“You alright there, Tommy?”

It took a moment, but when it sunk in Newt earned himself a half-smile that vanished before it even really appeared.

“Tommy, huh?”

Newt shrugged a shoulder in answer and waited him out. There were a few long minutes of blank, uncomfortable staring before Thomas sighed and broke.

“Do you ever just—” he made an aborted hand gesture that was apparently supposed to serve as a substitute for actual verbiage, and said nothing more.

Newt shook his head slowly and vaguely wondered when he’d actually started to care. He then gestured at his nametag, “Go on, you can ask. Says right there that ‘I’m here to help!’”

That got the chuckle he’d aimed for, but nothing more out of Thomas. For a moment it appeared like he was about to pluck up his courage for something and Newt held his breath in anticipation.

But it was for naught, and Thomas finished paying and left without another word.

Newt had never been tempted to look up someone’s contact information to check on them before, but he didn’t give in to the urge, though it was a near thing.

He was hollow when he added the scissors to the chart and refused to spend any time allowing himself to think about why.

Newt wasn’t distracted, no matter what Minho was saying.

“Dude, you’re not even listening to me right now! You’ve completely tuned me out! What is so fascinating about that door that you can’t pay attention to your best friend, who adores you, who only wants what’s best for you, and—”

“You mean who only wants to drag me out to another useless club to make abysmal choices that I’ll regret in the morning, because you’ve a much harder time getting laid when you can’t shamelessly use my accent to your advantage?”

Newt tore his gaze from the door to raise his brow at Minho, who spluttered in indignation. The store was due to close at any moment, and Thomas had yet to come in. He’d come in every day since Thanksgiving without fail, and last night he’d been so off that Newt had been not-so-subtly hoping to see shaggy brown hair and mole-stamped skin fall through the doors at any moment.

But he hadn’t, and Newt had never felt less like going out for a drink.

He’d told Minho as such, but it was Minho, and he’d never learned the word ‘no’.

“Newt. You _never_ want to go for a drink, okay? If I didn’t drag you out, out of the _goodness of my heart_ , I might add—” Minho blithely ignored Newt’s accusations on his march to close and lock up the front doors. “—then you’d be nothing more than a hermit! A loner! A pale shut-in who never gets—WHOA!”

Someone pushed past Minho just before he could close the doors and nearly knocked him over.

“Shit! I’m sorry man, I just gotta, uh. One sec!”

Thomas turned from the heap of Minho and Newt’s throat went dry. If yesterday he’d been in a right state, tonight he was the exact opposite. His hair was styled deliberately to look as though someone had dragged their fingers through it, he was perfectly shaven, and he wore a fully tailored suit that fit his body like a glove. Newt had been right about what was likely hiding underneath the shaggy clothes but his brain was too busy short circuiting to care.

“Hi!” Thomas dashed forward to the register and grabbed a random item along the way—an ugly wooden Santa—and slammed it down at the register. “Work ran late and—I just—I need to buy… this?”

It came out as a question, but it wasn’t one that Newt knew how to answer. There was too much to unpack there; Thomas had clearly rushed in last minute to… what? Let Newt know he was alright? Continue his streak of most consecutive daily purchases? And why? He worked a job that required him to look like… like _that_ , and Newt manned the till at a craft store.

“Need a bag for that?” Newt asked, and then cleared his throat to try and add some moisture.

“No, I, uh. I’m good. Thanks.” Thomas nodded like he’d accomplished something, grabbed his ugly Santa, and walked towards the door giving Newt a view he was thoroughly unequipped to handle. “Sorry about running into you earlier, I just really needed… this thing.”

Minho looked from where Thomas walked out to where Newt still stood several times before he actually spoke.

“What… the _fuck_?”

Instead of answering Newt moved forward and locked the doors up himself, feeling lighter than he had all day. When he turned around, he clapped Minho on the shoulder and guided him towards the back.

“Club after, yeah?” Newt asked, once he’d cleared his throat yet again. “I’m bloody parched.”

  * Patterned Scissors
  * ~~Ugly Santa~~ Ugly Santa (he bought it; it counts)
  * Gingerbread House kit
  * Snow Globe kit



“I do not understand this guy, I swear to god,” Gally pronounced as he slammed open the door to their break room and collapsed down into a chair. “He comes in every fucking day and buys the weirdest fucking shit.”

Newt dropped his curry back onto the table and jumped to his feet. “Thomas was here? What was it this time _exactly_?”

He scurried over to his bag and pulled the chart out from inside and unfolded it carefully. When he looked up for Gally’s response, he hadn’t been expecting the wicked dance of eyebrows he received. There was a beat of silence before Gally shook his head and stood up.

“Nope, not dealing with this alone.” He then walked back out of the break room and shouted, “Minho! Get your ass in here, he’s lost his damn mind!”

A moment later, causal as you please, both Gally and Minho walked in and took a seat at the table.

“You do realize that eventually Alby will notice none of us are out there, right?” Newt felt the need to ask despite the situation. His felt-tip pen felt more and more awkward in his hand with every judging moment that passed.

“Not important,” Gally said. “Minho, ask him what he has in his hands.”

“Newt, what do you have in your hands?”

“Do you do everything he asks you to do?”

“Only when we agree to use the safe word. Now, answer the question.”

Newt deserved that, truly he did, but he felt it was worth the attempt to stop… whatever this was from happening.

“It’s a chart.”

“Of?” prompted Gally.

“Okay, listen, I know you’re going to think I’ve lost the plot, but it’s not my fault, alright?”

Newt Ignored the muttered “oh I bet it is” he heard come from their direction as he went for broke and hung the chart up on the wall.

The silence he was met with wasn’t what one might call ‘encouraging’. The chart he’d been working on had three distinct parts: the list of things that had been purchased, groups of items that might conceivably be related, and what the bloody fuck those items might be used to make. The third column was decidedly lacking, having been thrown completely off track by both the leather straps and bedazzler. Since that night of purchases he’d tried to get things back on course to no avail—his inability to piece it all together was slowly driving him mad.

When his chart was met with continued silence, he shrugged.

“This wouldn’t even be a problem if we were allowed to ask questions.”

Minho closed his eyes, Gally looked entirely too pleased with himself, and Newt still had no idea what it was that Thomas had purchased that day.

“Well?” Newt gestured with his felt-tip at Gally, who grinned.

“Two rolls of cork and a set of plastic sandcastle molds.”

“Gally!” Minho stole Newt’s fork from his curry and threw it in his general direction. “Do not encourage this!”

“No, no, I wanna see how this plays out—”

Newt tuned out their bickering and fell into despair at his chart. The items, they just… they just… they made no _sense_!

He stared at his chart for another few minutes and tried to draw connections, only to come up with nothing. Not at all. Not a single, thrice-cursed thing that Thomas could be doing with everything.

Eventually he packed up his chart and went back onto the floor, blatantly ignoring both Gally’s laughter and Minho’s attempts at reason, leaving even his curry to get cold on the table.

Whatever, he’d just get more tomorrow.

It was a doll that broke him.

Thomas came in, not in a suit but not dressed like a homeless man either, delicately placed a small porcelain doll on the scanner, and Newt cracked like an egg.

“Tommy, what the _fuck_?”

Thomas backed up a step and looked around in alarm, clearly not understanding that the cause for alarm was the small doll with a violet satin dress and a sale tag proudly announcing it was 10% off. Newt grabbed the doll in question and shook it at him before deciding that was a touch too dramatic and putting it back down.

“Uh…”

“No!” Newt said. “You, stay!”

Then, clearly having forgone the plot for something far more enticing, like a chicken farm or mental institution, Newt retrieved his bag from the break room and marched directly back to the counter. Thomas hadn’t moved an inch, either from fear or curiosity, and watched Newt like he was a dangerous animal.

“Now, you have to understand, there are _rules_ ,” Newt explained, only vaguely aware that his explanation wasn’t much of one at all. “We do not ask what people do with the things they buy for a _reason_ , but I cannot bloody take it anymore.”

With a flourish he opened his chart—complete with strings tying bits and pieces to one another—and demanded an explanation.

“What? What are you doing with all of these things? In what world would a single human being need these items?”

Newt stood there after his exclamation and watched as Thomas calmly took the chart and slowly went over it. The longer he took the more time Newt had to think about what a fool he’d just been, and the nerves had time to truly set in.

What had he been thinking? They weren’t friends, not really. They were... something, he thought. Perhaps. But in reality they’d never even shared an actual conversation that wasn’t centered around Newt’s job.

By the time Thomas set down the chart and looked up with something strange glinting in his eyes, Newt was stood huddled by the till with his arms wrapped around himself.

“How ‘bout I show you?”

Of all the responses Newt had dreamt up while he panicked, that hadn’t been one of them. Newt immediately took off his apron and nametag, logged out of his register, and walked back to get his coat. Zart was back there stuffing his face full of lunch so Newt told him there was an emergency and he had to go before turning right back around and walking out to meet Thomas.

The noon day sun was cold that Saturday, completely unable to combat the unforgiving wind that blew through him. They walked outside in silence and Newt climbed into Thomas’s battered old blue Jeep without stopping to think about the fact that he’d just gotten into a vehicle with a man he barely knew. One that Newt knew for a _fact_ had purchased an unthinkable amount of leather and rope.

Despite that, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

Their drive was quiet, the only sound the gentle singing of Bing Crosby dreaming of a White Christmas. The silence was comfortable, strangely, as they both appeared to have lost the nervous energy that they’d carried with them during every one of their interactions. Of course, that all changed for Newt once he’d realized they were pulling into the hospital.

He turned to Thomas to ask, but all he got was the shake of a head and a “You’ll see.”

Newt slowly got out of the Jeep and took care to avoid the puddles of frosty slush that decorated the walkway into the hospital; a place that no one really cared to be during the holidays. A lump formed in Newt’s throat with every step they took as all of his wildest theories dried up and vanished, leaving only uncertainty in their wake.

Still, Thomas was silent as he gently steered Newt towards an elevator and pressed a button for the 9th floor. When the door opened and Newt saw **Children’s Ward** written above the doorway... there was no stopping the sound that came out of his mouth or the instinctive reach for something to hold on to.

That something turned out to be Thomas’s arm but instead of pushing Newt away, Thomas reached and took Newt’s hand with his own and began to walk to the ward.

“Tommy, I—”

“Shh, just wait. I’ll explain in a minute, alright?”

Guilt felt thick in his veins but he nodded and stepped after him into the garishly decorated ward.

Immediately he saw items he recognized. Children were quietly putting away their toys and all around them were wreaths, flowers, fuzzy snowmen with bedazzled faces, and reindeer antlers lovingly crafted from straps of leather. There were signs too, made from construction paper and glitter pens, depicting get well messages and happy slogans.

There, next to the chubby boy with curly hair that Thomas led them to, was the ugly Santa that Thomas had purchased while wearing a suit that probably cost more than Newt made in a month.

“Hey Chuckie, you seen Brenda?” Thomas asked, his grip still tight on Newt’s hand. “I’ve got that doll she said she wanted to get for her sister.”

“Thomas! You’re not supposed to—whoa. Is this him?” Chuckie’s eyes lit up and he stopped what he was doing to give Newt a once over. “Took you long enough. Brenda went out for treatment, but I’ll give it to her when she gets back.”

“Thanks, man.” Thomas set the doll down next to the ugly Santa and let go of Newt’s hand to give Chuckie a hug. Then, evidently, it was time for an introduction Newt had not been ready to hear. “Newt, this is my little brother Chuck. Chuck, this is Newt. My… friend.”

His brother. He’d done all of this for his little brother and Newt was an idiot and a horrible person for giving him a hard time about it. He’d drawn a _chart_ for Christ’s sake while Thomas’s little brother had been in a children’s ward and he was most certainly going to the worst circle of Hell for it.

“Nice to meet you, Chuck,” was what Newt said instead of the litany going on in his mind. But his descent into self-hatred must have been evident because Chuck turned and smacked Thomas on the arm.

“You didn’t tell him, did you numb-nuts?” Chuck demanded. At Thomas’s guilty look the kid groaned and shoved them both out the door. “You’re the absolute worst. Get out of here before the nurse yells at you and tell your boyfriend what’s going on. I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

Even with Chuck’s words still fresh in his mind Newt was too far gone in his guilt to pay them any attention. Or to pay anything any attention, really, until he felt the cold air blast some words back into him. He’d silently followed Thomas all the way back outside and only then did it occur to him to apologize.

“Thomas, I am so sorry, I had no idea—”

“No, no, stop,” Thomas interrupted. “Chuck’s right, I owe you an explanation. I’ve basically been stalking you for a month, it’s the least I owe you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Okay, so my brother’s illness flared up again and he had to stay in the ward for a while. He was super bummed about it, obviously, and whenever I’m in a funk I like to make crafts to... I dunno. Prove I have control over something? It’s weird, but not the point. So I went to the store to get some things I needed to make some decorations for the kids and then… things got… a touch out of hand?”

He said it liked a question but Newt wasn’t inclined to answer it at the moment.

“You checked me out that day, and—I mean, you worked the register while I checked you out—I mean, I _bought things from you_ and then I went to the hospital that night and Chuckie teased me for the fact that my hands shook and I could barely talk to you. Trust me, you haven’t been teased until it’s been done by a 12-year-old brother that knows all of your secrets. Anyway, so after that he dared me to go in the next day and actually talk to you… only that clearly didn’t work out.”

Thomas rubbed his hands through his hair and shifted his weight from foot to foot in embarrassment. Newt remembered those first few interactions, when Thomas had been a mess and barely coherent. Well, no wonder he’d been a mess, his brother was in the hospital. It had taken a few tries before the nerves had settled out.

“So, I kept coming. I had to buy something each time I was there, so I started taking requests from the kids and would do my best to see what I could create. I’m not all that great at flirting,” he full-on blushed at that, and wasn’t that interesting, “so it wasn’t until the day that Chuck had a bad spell that I could tell you even cared, that I wasn’t just some customer that came in and bothered you every day. That was the first chance I had to really talk at you. You looked so concerned but I just couldn’t do it, and then the next day work ran late and I realized what it might look like if I just didn’t come in.”

Newt couldn’t describe the feeling swelling up in his chest, but with how warm it was he was fairly certain he couldn’t blame it on the wind. This whole time they’d both been idiots and it was a good thing they were in front of a hospital because Newt was having a fair bit of difficulty breathing.

“Then, when I flew in after work, I realized I might actually stand a chance. That I wasn’t imagining anything. You looked at me like… well, a lot like you’re looking at me now, actually. Newt—”

Tommy’s lips tasted like the breath of fresh air Newt’s lungs so desperately needed, and he was delighted to find that he could feel the moles on his neck with his fingertips. Newt took great pleasure in the fact that he’d be able to map them out in the dark as well as with light, as he was almost certain they’d be all over Tommy’s body.

When Tommy returned his kiss Newt’s breathing finally began to even out, and eventually they had to stop because they were both grinning too hard to kiss through the smiles. There was plenty they’d need to talk about, that was certain, but they would get there eventually. They’d go on dates, get to know one another, stop Tommy spending his entire paycheck at Newt’s place of work. Maybe, one day, they’d even learn each other’s last names.

“I do have to ask, though,” Thomas said, later, after they’d found someplace warm and kissed away the weeks of nerves and uncertainty. Newt hummed for him to go on, and Tommy did so after a lingering kiss to Newt’s neck. “What _did_ you think I’d done with all that stuff?”

The question startled a bright laugh out of Newt. They spent the rest of the night with laughter and kisses while Newt explained all of his wilder theories, and a few of Gally’s, too.

Years later, Newt’s chart of wild theories would be framed and have the place of honor on the mantle over their fireplace with the ugly Santa resting right alongside.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Secret Santa!!
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it. I took the idea and ran with it--and yes, Newt's chart is meant to resemble that one .gif of the conspiracy guy. 
> 
> You're welcome.


End file.
